


Kill Your Doppelgänger

by BinchJuice



Category: Original Work
Genre: Also apologies for the formatting, Attempt, Gen, Horror, Two of them!, also, better safe than sorry, buuuut, still trying to get the hang of html, the violence might not be as graphic as the warning implies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 15:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17368376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BinchJuice/pseuds/BinchJuice
Summary: She looks normal to all who see her. She wears a T-shirt and jeans. Tall and curvy. Auburn hair cascades town her back in tight ringlets. Her nose buttons up and dimples imprint in her cheeks. Her eyes are barely open from how she smiles, but if one looks closely, they could tell that her eyes are green. Her clothes are normal, her physique is normal, her face is normal.Except to you.





	Kill Your Doppelgänger

**Author's Note:**

> Hello whoever has stumbled upon this! This is the first of my attempts at horror that has seen the light of day! I’d super appreciate it if you left a comment telling me how I did, things that worked, stuff that didn’t. That sort of thing.
> 
> No pressure, of course. So without further ado, the thing you presumably clicked on that there link for! Also, 669 word count?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Nice ;p

She looks normal to all who see her. She wears a T-shirt and jeans. Tall and curvy. Auburn hair cascades town her back in tight ringlets. Her nose buttons up and dimples imprint in her cheeks. Her eyes are barely open from how she smiles, but if one looks closely, they could tell that her eyes are green. Her clothes are normal, her physique is normal, her face is normal.  
Except to you.

You first saw her at the grocery store. She was wearing the same shirt as you, and when you bumped into each other, she laughed. You felt dread bloom in your gut. You apologized for “not looking where you were going” and before she got out a reply, you scurried off.

The second time you see her, it is only in passing. It’s a rainy day and you’re walking home. You forgot to bring an umbrella, everyone did. Except her. You see her, umbrella held over her head.  
You and her lock eyes for just a second, and she smiles. Cockroaches crawl down your back. Before anything else can happen, she slips into a coffee-shop, expertly folding down her umbrella before going inside. You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, staring where she was.

The third time you see her, you don’t really see her. You’re looking in a mirror.

The fourth time you see her, she’s sitting at your desk, doing your mundane officework. You don’t know who she is, but you know what you must do. That day, you go to the store and buy a nice new set of knives.

The fifth time you see her, you’re following her home, sharpened steel hidden up the sleeve of your jacket. She walks along the streets of the city and resolutely you follow her, a few blocks behind to ensure she doesn’t know you’re there among the throng of people.  
She walks to an apartment complex. Your apartment complex. She walks into the lobby and you push ahead of the people in front of you to get there too.  
Just as you get inside, you see her greet the receptionist. They chat for a few minutes before she heads to the stairs. The receptionist sees you and does a double take. You talk for a few minutes. Then you head to the elevator. Instinctively, you know just what floor to go to. You know where she is.  
You reach floor three and step out, heading to 314. It’s your apartment. If you strain your ears, you can hear her inside. She found your spare key. No matter, you have a key too.  
You hear the snick of an unlocked door, and you slip inside. She doesn’t hear you, the TV is too loud. That’s good, it means you know exactly where she is.  
Creeping along the hallway, you slip the knife into your hand. The blanket draped over the couch isn’t there. That must be where she sleeps. You try to contain your snickers as you move forward, placing yourself at the side of the couch where her head is. You raise your knife, ready to strike, and!  
Shnk.  
You gasp, pain blossoming in your back, your arms flailing at your attacker. She throws you onto the couch, you hit a bunch of pillows. You look up into her face. She smiles sweetly, blood dripping from her knife and onto the floor.  
Wait! No, your knife! It’s from the set you bought. Blearily you can make out the new block in the kitchen, two blades missing. Your head snaps back to her, no. Nononono. Please no. God, why?  
Your question goes unanswered. She crawls over you until you’re face to face. You’re frozen in your shock, the knife in your hand slipping to the ground. A tip of pain sprouts in your chest. As she digs it in, it gets deeper, and deeper, and deeper, until you’re choking on your own blood. You struggle to get her off of you as black spots dance in your eyes and-

The sixth time you see her, you don’t really see her. But she sees you. Then again, she is you. It’s like looking in a mirror.


End file.
